motherless
by BlueIce RedFire
Summary: The loss of a mother hit him hard.
**motherless**

He noticed her before she noticed him. As he readied himself to fight, she was holding onto her staff and hiding behind his uncle, who was also armed and ready to face the bandits. He knew he needed to talk to her, but he wasn't sure when. Hopefully when there was no one left to fight.

Owain saw one of the bandits approach him, and tightened the grip on his sword. Whispering softly to himself, he charged at the bandit and sliced him down in one go. Triumphant, he span his sword in his hand and held his other hand over his eye in a heroic action, impressed at how he fought.

The allying army came behind him, attacking the other bandits with their fancy lances, axes and tomes. As they all occupied different allies, he noticed another bandit closing in on one of the townsfolk, and ran down quickly to take them down.

Although, as he turned to strike his pose, he failed to notice the bandit rising to his feet, his broad axe being gripped tightly and aiming to take him down. Owain turned his head, noticing some small movement and saw the blood stained axe being held above his head. Eyes wide, he was paralysed in his stances and as he braced himself for the attack, he felt a mystical energy around him and suddenly found himself away from the danger, and the bandit swung at nothing.

Confused, he turned his head to see the royal healer grinning sheepishly, hiding her rescue staff behind her back. Blinking, overwhelmed at his mother's kindness despite knowing nothing about him, he smiled awkwardly.

"T-Thanks," Owain said, lowering his sword to show sign of non-hostility. Lissa straightened up and put a hand on either side of her hips, holding her head up high very smugly. Owain held his fond smile back, she was just as charismatic in the past as she was in the future.

"You're welcome," she replied in a sing-song voice. "Can't afford to let an ally get taken down by some bandits!" Owain chuckled, refraining from telling Lissa that he could very much handle himself and struck his hero pose once again, readying himself for yet another long speech.

"By the gods, I thank you for your heroic efforts to save me from danger!" he shouted, unwillingly distracting some of the bandits and allies of his mother. "For your staff has rescued me from impending devastation and for that I am eternally grateful for your services." Owain bowed too, for no other reason than for theatrics.

Lissa went red and turned away embarrassed, holding her staff up to hide her face. Owain took this as an opportunity to introduce himself to her, but just as he began to speak, he heard the sounds of an arrow piercing through the air and turned his head slightly to see it coming towards him.

Quickly, as he had learnt from his father, he dodged the arrow with grace and found the archer who fired at him. The bandit's eyes grew wide and Owain smirked, before spinning his sword around and striking him down with rocket speed. Proud of his work, and finally free to speak to his mother in peace, he turned around but immediately his face fell.

There Lissa stood, her staff on the ground and her eyes focused on the arrow that had pierced itself through her body. Wordlessly, she gripped the end of the arrow and with a small tug, pulled it from her body and held it up, looking at its blood coated shaft.

It was horrific, the way she was so quite and unresponsive about what just happened. Owain was frozen in place, his sword fell from his hands, as he watched as his mother stared at the arrow in her hand, so monotonous and so eerily. He was frightened she would die at any time.

Her leg began to wobble and Owain regained his senses and ran to catch her as she fell, holding her small body in his arms, and looking into her fading face. His own eyes began to water, and all he could do was hope she was alright.

"Healer! Anyone! Help! She's dying!" He cried out, but yet no one responded. They were too far away from anyone, and no one was around to save them. Owain yelled out again, more desperate and louder than before, wanting someone, _anyone_ , to help him save his mother.

His tears were uncontrollable now, dripping onto her fast fading face, as her breaths got croakier. She couldn't die now, she was needed by everyone, she was his mother _he_ needed her too, and she didn't even know who he was. Everything was crumbling around him, and all Owain could do was hold his dying mother as she slipped away. This _couldn't_ be happening.

As he bawled for his dying mother, he felt her hand, which was now cold and pale, touch his arm. He looked into her face, but all he could see were her closed eyes and gaping mouth. "I'm…sorry…" she croaked. "I…couldn't…save…the future…please…" her breath hitched and he panicked, shaking her to keep her conscious. She caught her breath and let out her last words. "Fight this war…for Emm…for Chrom…for everyone…for me."

And then she went limp.

 **「＊」**

Once all the bandits had be killed off, Chrom approached the mysterious hero who had his head down and his face stone cold. Unlike what he'd seen previously before the battle, the hero's enthusiasm had disappeared and was replaced with an air of misery. And Chrom could only assume that it was related to his younger sister's death.

"You did your best—"

"No I didn't," Owain interjected, his tone dull. He looked up at his uncle, who now had a look of shock as he stared into Owain's puffy eyes. "I didn't do my best, I let her die." His grip on his sword, which had been sheathed in the sheath on his hip, tightened and he readied himself for his next action.

"It hurts me too," Chrom admitted, his own tone turning sympathetic. "She was my sister. She was my family, she was my best friend. But it wasn't your fault that she died, and you did your best to protect her too." He placed a hand on Owain's shoulder, and the myrmidon's response was to shake it off.

Before Chrom could comfort Owain any further, he was shoved back by the younger male as he drew his sword. In retaliation, Chrom's hand reached for his own sword, but before he could draw his Falchion, Owain raised his sword above his head in a rather strange manner. Confused, Chrom went to ask him what he was doing but Owain had other plans.

"Cruel world! You may have taken my mother but you will not stop my burning vengeance! I will stop at nothing until all who have wronged have seen the end of my sword!" Owain cried out, screaming for the skies. He looked back at Chrom and pointed the end of his sword at the exalt.

"Wait, mother?" Chrom questioned, still trying to process what this guy was saying. "Would that mean that you're…?"

"I am my father's son and my mother's pride! I am the unstoppable force that spare no man! I am Owain!" the future child continued, ignoring Chrom before slashing the air and bringing his sword back to his side. "Uncle, know that you've been spared by my sword hand, and that it thirsts for the murderers of the peace!"

Chrom blinked, before sighing defeated. "So your Lissa's son huh? Which means your also royalty." Honestly, Chrom couldn't believe that a guy like this could be considered royalty, but his relation to Lissa proved it as much. Tossing the myrmidon a smile, he extended his hand. "Let's go see your father, Owain."

Calming down from his heroic speech, Owain eyed Chrom's hand before turning to drift his gaze over to his mother's discarded staff. Giving it a long glance, he turned back to his uncle, reassured of his choice. He nodded, and accepted Chrom's hand and began walking back.

"Uh, Owain?" Chrom urged. The myrmidon cocked his head to look at his uncle who was pointing at their clasped hands.

Owain just grinned. "You have been blessed by my sword hand, uncle. Many around you shall envy you for this." And he turned back to walk away. Chrom sighed, and shook his head. Owain will definitely be an interesting addition to the pack.

 **「＊」**

As Owain was sleeping, having passed out in the middle of training and being dragged away by both Brady and Inigo, the remaining girls continued their training with Kjelle and Lucina sparring against each other whilst Severa and Cynthia sat out and watched the two toughest Shepherds fight it out.

Severa reclined back, resting her hands behind her head, laying in the soft grass and closing her eyes. "Don't wake me up," she told Cynthia before falling into a deep sleep. Cynthia nodded and fiddled around with her spearhead as she watched Lucina and Kjelle spar.

As she did, her thoughts drifted off to Owain and how he was feeling having lost his mother the same day they were reunited. Cynthia had fond memories of Lissa, and how she would always come around to dress up her wounds when she was hurt, both in this era and in the past before war became devastating.

Owain had been one of her best friends since they were barely able to speak, practically been raised in the same crib and were pretty much inseparable. She knew him inside and out, and knew that despite the act he was hurting inside because of his mother's death. He was the same when his father died and Cynthia was the only one who could truly see his pain.

But in this timeline, his father was still alive and it was his mother who bit the dust, and knowing how close Owain was with his mother, Cynthia couldn't even imagine the guilt he was feeling. It was never his fault, but he always thought it was. It was a flaw to his character, but one that truly shaped him into the person he is now.

Lucina finally managed to disarm Kjelle and win the sparring match. Cynthia let out a long breath she didn't even realise she had as she stood up to train herself. Before she began moving, she took one longing glance at her spearhead and smiled softly.

"I miss you, Mom," she whispered, before pocketing the spearhead and running off to nurture her pegasus.

 **「＊」**

"So what exactly happened?" Inigo asked the other children, as they gathered around behind the medical tent. It was late at night and they had a march the following morning, but they all decided it would be a good idea to discuss recent issues now. At least now they couldn't be disrupted by responsibilities, training or general interruptions.

"I heard he tried to fight a group of risen by himself but he almost passed out and that's when Chrom and Robin ducked in get him out," Severa explained, folding her arms. "Seriously, what's with that kid? Does he even sleep? He keeps on passing out everywhere."

"He's been 'aving nightmares. Keeps waking up, screamin' somethin' about savin' his ma," Brady answered before lowering his voice. "Who knew it'd be this bad?"

"This has happened before remember," Laurent added. "He overworked himself last time and almost died at the cause of it."

"We can't let it happen again!" Yarne piped up and some of the others nodded in agreement. As the rest of the children discussed the issues, Cynthia stealthily ducked out and ran off.

She made her way to the medical tent and slipped through the flaps of the tent where she saw Owain laying down on one of the beds, a wet rag on his head and his right arm strapped down to the bed. She pressed her lips together and slowly removed the rag from his forehead and pressed the back of her hand to it. It was burning.

Not knowing too much about sickness and fevers, Cynthia set the rag back down on his head before sitting down cross-legged and pulled out a small hidden bag of flowers from her armour. Each flower has bright and colourful petals attached to it and were completely undamaged thanks to a tip her mother had taught her.

Softly, she plucked off a petal from the flower and discarded it whispering, "He'll die." She then plucked off another petal from the flower and whispered, "He'll be alright."

Cynthia continued this process until the end of the flower, before picking up another and repeating this process. Each pluck of the petal was swift and clean and her whispers were soft and sweet. Soon the floor around Owain was littered with bright, colourful petals and Cynthia finished the last of her flowers with a sigh of relief as she whispered, "He'll be alright."

She went through only four flowers. She decided that they spelled out something important to her, which was hope. She had hope that Owain would push through his sickness, just like she had pushed through her own sadness of witnessing her mother die before her. The horrific images still plagued her thoughts daily of her mother being impaled by a lance and being tossed away like nothing by that sadistic bandit.

Cynthia hadn't realised that tears were beginning to pool in her eyes. She sniffed, fighting back the tears, and wiped her eyes. "You'll be okay, hero," she told Owain as she got up. Yet as she turned around, she felt someone grab her hand, stopping her from taking any further steps.

She turned around to see a half asleep Owain facing her, a weary smile on his face. "Thanks, Cynthia the Great." A smile crept onto her face, before she lunged at Owain and wrapped her arms around him tightly burying her head into the crook of his neck.

"You're okay, you're okay, you're okay," she repeated, her tears rolling down her cheeks. "You're actually okay!" Owain, choking a little at the gesture, returned the hug, wrapping his free arm around her waist and smiling to himself.

"I guess I am," he said softly, to which Cynthia pulled away from his and stared into his eyes. His eyes, full of both misery and hope, which made her entire world lighten up despite how dark both of their situations were. She was so thankful that he had awoken and was looking at the world in a new light. Hopefully.

Just then, they heard footsteps and turned to see Noire at the entrance of the tent. She took one look at them before her face turned red and she went to bury her head in her hands. "I-I didn't see anything!" she squealed out before rushing away.

It was only then that Cynthia realised how much of a compromising position the both of them were in. Cynthia was sitting on Owain's lap, her hands resting on his shoulders whilst Owain's hand was sitting on her waist. No matter how one looked at it, their position looked _very_ suggestive.

Turning red, Cynthia climbed off Owain's lap and hid her blushing face by dropping her head. Owain looked at her, his own cheeks tinted pink, and with his rather limp hand he reached his free arm to her face and brushed her cheek lightly, tucking a lock of hair behind her head.

"It's okay," he whispered, holding her face in his hand. "I'll be okay. I'll…be…" he yawned and his eyes dropped. "Okay." His hand dropped from her face and by his side as he fell into a deep sleep. Smiling at his adorable sleeping self, Cynthia stood up and grabbed an extra sheet from the shelf and threw it on top of him.

And just before she left, she leant down to place a kiss on his cheek. "I know you will."

* * *

 ** _disclaimer: I cannot write Owain for the good of me, and I'm sorry for anyone readying this is my characterisation is shitty :c_**

 ** _this is my secret santa fic for the amazing signelchan! hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing this c:_**

 ** _\- blue_**


End file.
